The Morning After
by Atolm2000
Summary: Aaas some of the Sanzo Party learn the perils of drinking too much. Actually not yaoi. Honest.


So I have some of the damnedest things pop up in my head at 2 am. -Ahem- And, despite first appearances, this is neither yaoi nor fluff. Really. Honest. No moreso than the "How Hakkai got the only bed" short in the manga vol. 1.

And I'm not sure it bears thinking about how much alcohol was involved in the setup.

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"Well...this is quite a scene."

"No kidding. It might be worth it to stick around, just to see their faces when they wake up."

"Now now, I'm sure this is going to be awkward enough as it is...should we move them?"

"Are you kidding?! The last time I tried to touch him in his sleep, he twisted my arm wierd; my elbow felt funny all day."

"...So we're leaving them like this?"

"You can try if you want, I'm not getting close to this."

"Well...I suppose it's for the best...maybe they'll think more next time."

"I'm just sorry we can't save a picture or something."

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Before he hit conscious, Sanzo didn't want to wake up. He was warm, comfortable, and on some level knew that if he woke up now, it'd be in that awkward state somewhere between still-tipsy and apocalyptic hangover. He almost ignored whatever'd gotten him half-awake and went back to sleep, except that it was another aura, and it was way too close; he wasn't outside, it wasn't cold out, and it wasn't Goku, which ruled out the "talking thistle burr attached to clothing" option, and just about anything else spelled trouble. It was only the lack of sudden movement, similar lack of sense of hostility, and the sensation that his hands were in an awkward place to move from that kept self-defense reflexes from kicking in.

The other person was, in fact, quite asleep; Sanzo very carefully pulled his left arm back from being draped over them, but couldn't do much about his right hand, which was rather trapped under them and tangled in his similarly trapped sleeve to boot. His head was resting on the other person's shoulder and neck, on cloth, skin, and long hair, the smell of cigarette smoke soaked somewhere through the skin; both of them smelled like alcohol, naturally, since that was the entire explanation for the situation. There was one heavy arm draped over his shoulder holding him in place, the other wrapped around his waist under him. He was saved the trouble of cracking an eyelid to confirm the hair color by Gojyo mumbling in his sleep and pulling him a little closer, fingers brushing the nape of Sanzo's neck. Of course Gojyo was completely asleep, quite used to sleeping with someone next to him, and completely unaware who he was pulling closer at this moment, but none of that changed the fact that Sanzo was going to kill him.

Sanzo's homicidal streak surfacing triggered Gojyo's trained-in instinct of "knowing when I'm not wanted" that'd many times saved him from earning assault; he woke up, and red eyes met purple with roughly equal amounts of shock and confusion, though there was more panic on one side and outrage on the other.

"What are you doing?", Sanzo growled low, a dangerous edge to his voice.

"Trying to figure that out myself." It was more subconscious self-preservation that kept his arms around Sanzo as he raised an eyebrow at Sanzo's right arm low under his waist; Gojyo's grip did turn from drowsy comfort more to a cautious restraining hold, akin to suddenly realizing one was embracing a large poisonous porcupine liable to go for the throat at the slightest provocation. "Ahh, could you...y'know...move your hand?"

"I can't move it with you on top of it." If his gun weren't on the right side of his robes under him, he'd already have it out. "Gojyo - you will die if you don't let go of me."

Gojyo swallowed, lifted his right arm off Sanzo's shoulder, pulled his other arm out from around Sanzo's waist, and shifted his weight so Sanzo's right hand was freed.

Then there were three gunshots to the ceiling; Gojyo had caught Sanzo's gun hand and pushed his aim up, not wanting to test if Sanzo was aiming to miss as usual or not. With the awkward position Sanzo was already in, shortly afterwards Gojyo was on top of him, with both of his arms pinned to the ground above his head, holding Sanzo down flat on his back.

Sanzo picked up the special kind of murderous twitch that had Gojyo gauging how far it was to the door, and how long it'd take Sanzo to shoot again if he let go of Sanzo's wrists and got off Sanzo to flee. If he was really lucky, the monk would get distracted that the Maten Sutra was hanging loose and -

"Clothes!" Gojyo exclaimed, as if that one word had just saved his life.

"What?!" The element of confusion did nothing to lessen the violent twitch.

"Nothing happened, we're both still dressed!" Gojyo started laughing in nervous relief. Sanzo didn't let go of the gun anyway; the urge to kill crept down a notch, but he was still weighing whether or not waking up in Gojyo's arms was worth causing grievous bodily harm. "We must've just both passed out as soon as we got in the door or something…" That was the one point in favor of not maiming Gojyo - that Sanzo wouldn't have been there if he hadn't also been too wasted to walk without help the night before.

The door opened, Hakkai in the doorway cheerfully ignoring the signs of near-murder, or that they were still tangled up with Gojyo pinning Sanzo to the ground in a rather compromising position. "Ah, good, you're both awake! Breakfast is getting cold downstairs." He waited long enough to be sure they'd heard and confirm that they weren't going to respond, then gently, quietly closed the door again.

They didn't move for another two or three minutes, both staring at the door. If it had been anyone but Hakkai at the door, they never would've lived it down, nor would they have recovered any tattered scraps of dignity out of it.

Then Sanzo started to hiss slightly through his teeth.

"Get. Off. Me."

"Hell no, if I let you up, you're just going to try and shoot me, or dislocate my arms or something."

Sanzo only glared up in silence, eyes narrowed to purple slits.

"Y'know, we can't stay like this all day. If we take too long, Hakkai's gonna come back, and people are going to wonder."

"Then get off me."

"Nuh-uh, not until I know you're not going to try to kill me."

Sanzo growled, struggling for a second, then gave up. "Alright. Fine. I won't kill you."

Gojyo smelled a loophole. "Your word - no shooting, no attempts at any kind of harm whatsoever; I let you up, you walk out calmly, and we never speak of this again."

"….Agreed. No speaking of this, ever." Gojyo didn't budge. "And I won't harm you.", Sanzo tagged on, grudgingly, half-mumbling the words.

Gojyo let go of his wrists and stood up, stepping away; Sanzo sat up, grumbling as he put his gun away, straightened his robes, and stalked out. Gojyo followed quietly after trying to regain his own semblance of poise, keeping a good fifteen feet distance between them until they'd gotten out to the table, sitting down on opposite sides of it. Sanzo kept a constant attempt-at-willing-death glare on Gojyo while poking at his plate, Gojyo calmly eating trying to recoup what dignity he had and ignore Sanzo at the same time. Goku was already eating, but that didn't stop him from stifling a snicker that got away from him, leaving him laughing helplessly at the other two. When Hakkai returned, it was to the silent dilemma of who the two of them were going to kill first - Goku, still laughing hysterically, or each other.

"Ooh dear." Maybe he and Goku should've tried to move the two drunks the night before...


End file.
